Someone I'm Not
by pippin143
Summary: Saber is a confused Breton girl who is trying to outrun her Forsworn heritage and her father's call for revenge. But when an adventure goes wrong, she's forced to accpet the help of the mercenary Vorstag, a Nord who hates Forsworn and magick, but mistakes her as a fellow Nord. When they discover the other's past, will they be able to still foster their future?
1. Chapter 1

**Slight AU where Madanach was never captured, and he became a briar-heart and had a daughter.**

* * *

I still tasted salt from my impromptu plunge into the icy sea. That had not been part of my plan for the day. It had been a get in get out kind of job, I expected maybe a few bandits hiding in the abandoned sea watch tower, not an entire clan.

I shivered, my leather light armor clinging and freezing to my skin as I attempted to conjure up a small flame. Magicka. I spat in disgust as it kept flickering in and out of existence. Finally I just shoved my hand into the pile of tinder I had collected and tried lighting them again. This time the spark ignited the bundle with frightening speed, causing me to fall back from the rising flames. The burn wasn't severe, and as the fire died down to a controllable state, I crept closer and huddled by its warmth.

My leg was cut up pretty bad where that Nordic bastard had slashed me, and my blood had clotted and glued my leather trousers to my skin. That was going to be a bitch to get off.

I bathed the wound with what was left in my canteen, fearing the smell of the blood would draw wolves or worse. After I had warmed up and began to feel the leather armor dry, I put out the fire and headed out of the brush, limping cross country in search of a nearby path. It was dark but I was not scared. I was never scared. I just knew when it was better to flee than to fight.

Arriving at a path, I took a deep breath and relaxed my nerves. Creatures rarely strayed to the roads unless they were desperate for they smelled too much like human. The only threats I would have to worry about now were thieves, but I could handle myself. I patted my Daedric dagger reassuringly; my most prized and despised possession. The only thing left of my childhood—and my father.

As I came to a fork, I spotted a sign marking the paths to each of the holds and major cities, making them seem so close when they were all still days away. The North sign pointed to Solitude, the lands I was currently retreating from, while the South-West sign pointed to Markarth. The Reach. I head in that direction, my home, if it even deserves that name anymore.

xxx

I arrive in the stony mountainous city, viewed by the guards as any common, unimportant traveler. They only give me a few glances, seeing me in my wretched state, but cause me no trouble. One is kind enough to point me to the Warrens, where the homeless dwell. I give him a bitter smile, eyes flashing, but move on, purposefully in the opposite direction. A small, battered woman who seeks no help is not an uncommon sight in Skyrim. One learns from a young age that it's a land where only the strong and shrewd survive.

I head up the rocky stairs, the city's waterfall misting against my face and hands. I shiver, remembering my recent swim, which reminds me of my desperate leap from the cliff's keep, which reminds me of my failure to fight off the bandits, which reminds me of what I really am. Weak. I ball my fists, pressing my fingers into the cold stone wall along the bridge, forcing down those innermost feelings that have haunted me my entire life.

_You are not _weak, the all too familiar voice croons. _You have power, but you refuse to use it. You could squash your foes under your boots if you would embrace who your truly are_.

I jerk my head up in a flash, eyes boring into the cascading water, letting my hands clandestinely freeze the stone rail. I know I have power. I know I am not weak. But I breathe under my breath, hand suddenly clutching the wretched dagger.

"But I can become someone without them." I breathe, ramming the dagger into the stone. It cuts into it deep enough to hold it upward. Tendrils of red swirl on its sky black, twisted blade, reprimanding me with words I can no longer hear.

I lost myself in my thoughts then, drifting off to my almost seemingly impossible task. If my own father didn't think that I could succeed in my quest to greatness without Magicka, then how could I? I was just a weak little Breton girl, trying to outrun her past and become someone she's not. Trying to become someone she could never be, that no amount of Magicka could ever give her. Trying to become a Nord.

xxx

Drifting through the heights of the city where few people go, I see the local fencer, Endon, dealing with a hooded figure whose gear and spoils scream suspicion, power, and glory.

Her elf eyes flicker to me, all too aware of my viewing their illegal business. She simply nods at her partner, a shorter man completely clad in Daedric armor, who touches his blade, staring in my direction. His daemon mask completely covers his face and I'm left staring into the soulless, black holes where his eyes are hidden.

Ice claws at my heart and I turn away, fumbling for my blade. I hate the Daedra. I hate them. I hate this blade and what they did to my people and what my people did for them. What we sacrificed. I hate it and want nothing to do with it.

The pair, or couple perhaps, walks away, the tall, hooded elven girl sauntering with her armored partner clanking slowly behind her. Endon then turns to me, his brow cocked expectantly. Ever since IU learned he was a fencer, he had been willing to trade with me at his Thieves Guild rate, promising purchase any stolen or rare goods I could procure. He made this exception for a non-guild member because he knew how desperate and pathetic my quest was. Both of us opened way to much that night. I shuddered uncomfortably at the memory, vowing to never propose a drinking challenge with a man again.

But I had recently bragged to him about how I was going to raid this keep and how I would fins loads of rare elven armor inside, since it used to be a Thalmor watchtower. He shot down my aspirations, doubting I could pull it off or that I would even find anything.

"You think you're the only one who comes up with these ideas?" He had taunted. "Sweetheart, you'll either get yourself killed or comeback empty handed."

Now he was waiting to see if I had proven him wrong, if I had found the elven armor he had promised such a high price for. I looked down and walked away.

xxx

My stomach ached with hunger and my head was heavy with fatigue. I sat on a stone bench near the Warrens, absent-mindedly scratching runes into the framework. I had long finished the remains of my food, what little was left from their soiled remains that is, before I had even been able to see the towers of the city.

I had no coin with me. What small amount I had saved was stored in a grove on the outskirts of the city (I didn't trust the banks here in Markarth) and I lacked the energy and time it would take to venture out to retrieve it. So I had nothing, just the filthy leather armor on my back and my dagger. I grimaced as an unpleasant, desperate thought swam into my head.

I could sell the dagger for a good price, especially since it contained a powered soul, and that would give me enough money to rent a room at the Silver-Blood Inn with consistent meals for a month, and during that time I could enlist, or do some odd jobs, or even scavenge around the city and plains selling goods until I had enough to restock on my supplies and set out again.

The scolding he gave me shocked such traitorous thoughts from my head, and I nearly dropped the blade, which was swirling with red madness. I apologized quietly and slightly fearful, blaming it on a wondering, desperate brain and not true intentions.

"I would never truly consider pawning you off, father." I whispered to the dagger, my lips almost brushing the wicked blade. Deep growling then emitted from my stomach.

I sighed, sheathing the temperamental blade, and began to restlessly walk to the inn, hoping some drunk barfly might buy me a few drinks and a decent meal.

xxx

The smell hit my face before the warmth did. Food. Mead. Sweat. My mouth watered as I pushed the grand doors open and slunk in. I involuntarily sighed as the hearth's heat soothed my aching bones and timidly approached it. My stomach interrupted this desire, reminding me why I was here. I didn't want to waste any time. What I needed was food. And I was all too familiar with how to get it.

A blond man with a braided hair and red paint streaks on his cheeks was laughing merrily at the bar, jeering and spilling mead all over himself, to the inn-keepers dismay. He would wipe the spills up before they could even soak into the wooden table with an angry frown and hiss to be considerate of the sleeping guests. I let my dirty, mouse-brown hair fall, tousled it (while quickly weaving in a few Nordic braids), and unbuttoned my leather strappings just enough to tease. Loudly pulling up a chair beside him, I smiled coyly.

"I'll take whatever he's drinking!" I called to the bartender. I let my gaze shift to the man, whose eyes were on my but nowhere near mine.

"Hey, Kleper," he called to the bartender, "put that last drink on me!" Turning to me, "How about you have a nice time here with old Cosnach." A pause. "Not that I'm old."

I smiled and he roughly put his arm around me, drabbling about how fine I looked and about his miserable life as a porter and so on.

"They never give me any work," Cosnach said dryly, "so all I do is sit here and drink."

It didn't take long until I had gotten several bottles of mead, and beef roast, and an inn-room out of him. I almost felt bad, for he too was a Breton but then I remembered that almost everyone in that wretched city was part of our disgraced, untrusted minority. We were left to rot and breakdown here along with the crumbling city of stone. So few of us ever got work above that of a mercenary or hired hand. And it was all because of us Forsworn.

Cosnach had become so drunk that he seemed to have forgotten I was even there, instead just jeering at the bard to "play that song again", which he reluctantly complied for the fifth time. Finally feeling satisfied, I slipped out of the bar stool and walked to the hearth's welcoming heat.

I slid into a stone armchair and began to strap my bosoms and loosen my boots. I slouched in deeply, ignoring the cold, hard surface and began to close my eyes, loosing myself in the white noise.

"You look like a complete wreak."

My eyes jolted open, searching for where the rude voice came from. There was a man with shoulder length, dirty blond hair and red Nordic-Spiral war paint on the right side of his face. His eyes gleamed playfully and pitifully in the firelight. I bit back my disgust. A Nord's pity was the last thing I wanted.

"You would too if you narrowly escaped blood-thirsty bandits." I replied icily, closing my eyes.

He sighed, and I could hear him move restlessly. Figuring he was done with small talk, I let myself slip closer to sleep, but he spoke again. I opened my eyes in annoyance.

"A strong, Nord like yourself shouldn't have to reduce herself to that." He said, nodding at the wasted Cosnach.

I froze. "Excuse me?" The words blurted out of my mouth so fast I couldn't hide my shock. He thought I was a Nord.

"Sorry if I misspoke," he laughed, stretching his still body. "One to many bottles of mead. They'll mess with your words." He thought I had been insulted by his comment, not that he mistook my race.

"Well, you do what it takes to survive in this realm. Everyone knows that." I grumble, feigning offense at his words.

"Oh, I agree," he said, "I'll do whatever is takes to keep armor on my back, a sword in my hand, and food in my stomach." I noticed his voice was different from other Nords, with an almost imprinted Imperial accent that spoke of far travels and time in different lands.

"And what do you do exactly?" I asked, mildly curious.

"I'm what you call of soldier of fortune," he drawled with a smile, "Make me an offer and I might just fight at your side." He was still smiling, but he was dead serious.

I looked him over, immediately distrustful and suspicious. "So this was all just leading up to your self-advertisement?" I scoff, miffed by his self-love.

"I could tell you were a beat down adventurer the moment you walked in." he said, leaning forward, a sly smile on his face. "You're strong and smart, but you need some help. And I need some coin. A win-win, you see?"

"I can manage on my own." I say pushing myself out of the hard seat, marking an end to the conversation. AS I stalk to my room, he calls once more after me.

"Watch your back, kid." A small paused. "Or better yet, pay me to do it for you."

I slam my door shut in response.


	2. Chapter 2

I woke early, eager to stretch my legs and figure out what my next move will be. The inn-keeper, Kleper, nodded at me as I walked out, acknowledging that everything has been paid for and taken care of. I almost feel bad for him, sitting in an inn all day scrubbing canteen s and dealing with the usual drunks for who knows how long, but I realize that he's off better than me. He's got a stable life and income. Hell, even the poor and street urchins of the Warrens have it off better than me. They know exactly what they need to do to survive and know where they are going to sleep at night. My life, on the other hand, is completely open to the unknown. And right now, that scares me. Especially since I have nothing, and to almost everyone in the city, I am nobody.

Swinging the heavy doors open, I rattled the inn-sign above, and take a step into the gray light of the morning. The light in this forsaken city is always harsh and gray, due to the stone and shadow of the mountains, making it seem dark, cold, and hostile, sucking the life out of everything and everyone.

I breathe in deeply, smelling and tasting the dank, rocky earth and metals that is Markarth, and step off the inn porch. I have no idea where I am heading, but I know I can't stay here. I need to go to my coin stash, and I'll figure out the rest from there.

"Good morning, lady troll."

I stop, not entirely sure I am the one being addressed, and turn to the voice uneasily. It is the mercenary from last night. The one who thinks I am a Nord.

"Troll?" I say sarcastically, my face deadpan. "And why am I troll?"

He is reclined against the wall, just in the shadow of the building, and stretches as if he'd been there all night. "Because no human would react so viciously as you did last night." He shuts his eyes, feigning tiredness and pain from harsh light, "It was completely feral."

"What do you want?" I ask, exasperated. It's obvious he came out here for the purpose of catching me before I left. He still thought he had a chance of being hired by me.

"Since you asked," he muses, shifting his gaze as if our conversation is a secret. "I was hoping you had reconsidered my proposition."

"No, I hadn't." I say flatly, crossing my filthy arms.

"Come off it," he says almost angry, pushing himself off the wall and stepping towards me, arms crossed in a mimic of mine. He stares down at me with intense, serious hazel eyes.

I scowled, trying to meet his challenging gaze, but found my eyes constantly drifting to his red facial paint. It was so daunting and captivating and I couldn't break away from it. He noticed this immediately, snorted a little and stepped back.

"You like the paint, too?" He said, amused. As if he was used to woman falling all over him because of it.

I bit back disgust and spat, "Not in the way you think," then silently breathed, "bastard." I hoped he both heard it and didn't hear it at the same time. "I just want some of my own. Mine all washed off." This was true. I had a specific design I liked to wear and was jealous that it was now gone. Long lasting paint was hard to come by.

He murmured in response, glancing at his dull reflection in the inn's window. "I like you, kid. You've got this striking, fierce energy about you." He began, looking back to me.

"I'm not a kid." I said with a snarl.

"If you say so," he said, smiling "I can't force you to hire me. But heed this—no one that travels alone lives long enough to make something of themselves. You find bodies with journals in caves all the time, lone adventures documenting their glorious journeys. Those notebooks never make it past four pages long. It's not that I'm saying you specifically are incapable to handle yourself; I'm saying that no one is." He stared at me, waiting for my reply.

I looked down, sighing weakly. "I don't have enough coin to hire you." I was so ashamed and embarrassed, but I had nothing else to say besides the facts of my situation.

He was quiet for a moment, looking me over again. I hated the way he studied me, fearing he would realize the truth. I could tell he was one who was racially prejudiced, and he thinking I was another Nord was part of the reason he insisted on following me. Traveling Nords were a rare sight in Markarth.

"You lost your stuff in your last quest," he said studiously, "but a smart one like you wouldn't have brought all her stuff along."

I suddenly feel exposed. He guessed about my secret stash. My heart quickens and I get all shaky, involuntarily of course. That coin is my life savings and I can't lose it all in order to pay for a desperate mercenary.

"I can't spend that. It's all I got." I say finally. It seems none of my emotions escape him. I can't stand that. If he does follow me, it would only be a matter of time before he figured out my true identity. And that wouldn't be good. He didn't seem like the type who would just accept he was lied to.

"That's all right," he said after a moment. He paused, and I could imagine his brain trying to work up another plan, ticking and hissing like the Dwemer gears beneath the city streets. "Let's make a deal." Another dramatic pause. "I journey with you and after the first cave, tower, keep or whatever you pay me then, and from the spoils you find I get to pick one. To keep. No questions or objections. Even if it is a set of damn daedric armor or a flawless diamond necklace. Just some interest. Then after that, I follow wherever and take only my cut. Deal?"

I gape at him, slightly startled by his seriousness of following me. It should unsettle me, or anyone, I think with anxiety, but for some reason I feel apprehensively joyous. This could be my chance—a new angle at my goals to become great.

"Deal."

He smiles broadly, eyes lighting up and extends his hand. We shake on it. "My name is Vorstag." He says as we release from the binding grip.

"Call me Saber." I say reflexively.

"Saber?" Vorstag says, uncertain and unimpressed. He seems to find it funny, like I'm trying to sound tougher than I am.

"Yeah." I say, not amused. "It's short for Sabierelie."

He looks me over, brows drawing together. "That's and unusual name." he states quizzically. I hold my breath, cursing myself for saying my real, Breton origin name. I should have made something up, or better yet, not given him a name at all.

"Well, it's what I'm called. Kill me for finding the need to shorten it."

He relaxes and chuckles a little at the joke. "Well, let's not waste any time." He says with tame excitement. "But first, we need to get you some new gear. Don't want my boss to get killed before we even make it to the first mark. Fortunately I got some connections."

xxx

The gates swing open and we walk out into the fresh world. Sunlight dots the land through the thick clouds and fresh air swirls freely in the unwalled terrain. The guards slam the high, metal doors shut immediately as we clear them, daring us to ask to be let back inside.

Vorstag turns to me, adventure lighting is face. He has pulled his ragged blonde hair back and restored his war paint, the supply which he graciously let me borrow from. I painted my face with my signature two finger, blood red, vertical streak on the left side of my face. One finger line above the brow, two finger line below. Simple and threatening. Just like me.

His connection, Tacitus Sallustius, the forge apprentice, owed Vorstag a set of armor due to previous freelance work Vorstag had took up for him. He gave me a full set of female iron armor and a steel sword. The poor bastard looked like a wounded animal as he handed over the goods, his she-orc advisor grimacing the entire time. I noted not to make too many deals with my hired help.

I had washed up a little at the inn as well, so I felt wide awake and ready to go. But I just couldn't shake the nagging feeling of being accompanied. I had been on my own for so long that I forgot how to interact with others. The only person I could truly trust was myself. And then there was my father problem.

When I rearranged my gear, the dagger shrieked at the contact it made with my hand. Fortunately I was the only one who would ever be able to hear it. He was appalled by my rejection of our people and accepting the companionship of a Nord. The people who killed us.

But not all of us, I reminded him. I'm still here.

He hissed and shrieked, the dagger flaring and flashing with violent reds, drawing Vorstag's attention. I belted it quickly, planning on using my steel sword as much as possible.

"I never liked those things." Vorstag said uneasily, addressing the dagger. "Anything Daedric shouldn't be trusted. Even if it is a hunk of metal, it came from them. That's bad enough."

"I couldn't agree more."

xxx

"I want to go to the keep!"

"I'm sorry," he grunted, not sorry at all, "but I refuse. It's a horrible idea and not worth our time."

I couldn't believe this. We had headed down the path and met the fork in the road, signs pointed to all the different holds in Skyrim. The way to head depending on what one was looking for.

And I wanted to go back to the keep.

"Look, you signed on to work for me." I growled, looking up at his stubborn face. "And I want to go back to where I last was. There's good stuff there—I can feel it."

"I signed on to help you get rich, not get revenge on a group of overpopulated bandits in some Thalmor cult tower."

"You're a mercenary!" I almost scream, exasperated and pulling at my hair. "You don't have an opinion on the work you do! That's the whole point of hired help!"

He bared his teeth and his lip curled in a snarl. We were too close for comfort, able to feel each other's hot breath, but both refusing to back down.

"You said you wanted to get rich—become great—become someone. I'm trying to help you do that. And going to this keep bent solely on revenge is not going to get you that." He paused, and let his snarl form into a cruel smile. "And the only things one finds in keeps are plundered goods. I don't want my entitled interest to come from a pile of Elven swords."

I narrowed my eyes, hot, angry air whistling out my nose. "Then what do you suggest?" I challenge dangerously.

"Nordic crypts." He says this like it is the most obvious answer in the world.

"Aren't those just full of dead bodies and broken pots?" I ask, miffed.

His eyes harden. "Saber, those dead bodies are the bodies of our ancestors."

I falter, almost biting my lip in guilt. Once again I forgot I am pretending to be a Nord. "Well, you're the one who wants to ransack them and possibly re-kill their undead." I say, quickly recovering.

He smiles crassly, the sides of his mouth twisting into his trade smile. "They are our ancestors. Family if you will. What's ours is theirs and what's theirs is ours. It's not our fault is their dead bodies forgot that."

I smile slightly, letting a laugh escape at his twisted logic. I curse myself for losing my anger and giving into his whims.

Noticing my guard has dropped and I'm slowly giving up on the fight he adds. "Unless you're scared of a few Draugr."

I roll my eyes at his childish provoking, but find myself yielding to his plan. I hate myself for it.

xxx

After trekking through the wild plains and craggy cliffs, we come upon a rarely treaded path leading down into a crevice. Vorstag leaped down into it, grunting as he made impact, but called for me to follow. He's found what he was looking for.

I jog down the descending path, not bold enough to take the leap and rejoin with him, he who is now investigating a door with an ancient Nord embellishment. I notice some strange runes etched on the stone around the black iron door and intake my breath. Those are Daedric markings. The dagger hisses and flashed against my thigh.

"I don't think this is what you are looking for." I say awkwardly, not sure how to tell him this most likely isn't a normal crypt.

"No," Vorstag says reassuringly, stroking his hand over the door frame, "this emblem here signifies a Nordic crypt."

"What about those…carvings?" I try nervously. "They don't look Nordic."

He turns to me, a confused smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, "No one like us reads or understand ancient Nord markings. They use to practice Magicka, so it's probably just some ancient runes." He reaches his hand to open the old door.

"I don't like it." I say suddenly, stalling his hand. He looks at me, quizzical and bored. "They look like the markings on my knife." I pull out the Daedric blade so show him. It lights up violently in my hand.

_He won't believe you!_ My father hisses to me. _You must tell him who you really are. But that would ruin your little scheme, now wouldn't it? You know what this place is._

Vorstag looks it over incredulously, glancing at the door. He pushes the blade away, refusing to believe. "Nords don't worship Daedra. It just magicka runes. Now come on." Turning from me, he pushes the door open, which grinds slowly in protest, and steps inside.

My heart freezes in panic, and I reach out for him, attempting to pull him back. But he's out of my grasp "Vorstag!" I call, running in. The entry way hisses with evil power as I pass through.

No. This won't happen. I will tell him. I need to get him out of here. I can't go through something like this again. I won't be the one responsible. Never.

He's already descended down the steep, narrow tunnel, looking to me with concern, not understanding my apprehension and fear. The place seems to rumble, but only I notice.

I catch up to him and grab his arm, pulling him back towards the entrance.

"Saber!" he says, eyes wide in bewilderment and trying to pull away. "By Talos! You need to calm down!"

"Vorstag!" I plead, "We can't be in here. This is a—!"

My words are knocked out of me as the ceiling caves in.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you guys for the reviews! Keeps me from giving up on the story! Tell me if the flashback sequence makes sense, never done one before.**

* * *

_Sabierelie stood in front of the altar in the rocky grove, the center of the camp. The statue of Hircine bore upon her, welcoming the new blood. Her father stood off to the side, his briar-heart tribal gear donned in the celebration. All around her brethren waiting, their ritual chants subsiding as it led to this moment._

_Her first sacrifice._

_She gripped the daedric dagger in her hand firmly, the embellishments imprinting into her skin. She had been raised and tutored for this moment her entire life, seen it done a hundred times. She raised the dagger, about to call to Hircine for acceptance and protection._

_Nothing came out._

_She held it suspended in the air. The chants ceased and everyone held their breath, confused by her stalling. She looked to her father, her eyes filling with confused tears. His facial expression remained unknown as it was hidden behind the deer mask, but she knew what was there: embarrassment and anxiety. _

_He motioned at her to do it with the gentle wave of his hand, as if she were simply a small child about to pick a flower, rather than a fourteen year old about to stab a young woman._

_Her eyes fluttered to the Nord, bound on the bloodstained altar. Her pale complexion was red as she fought for air to scream, but the gag prevented her from doing so. Wet, salty streaks stained her face. _

_Sabierelie weakly lowered the dagger, letting it fall from her grasp. She looked down, ashamed to meet her father's gaze. _

_He rushed over pushing her out of the way and bringing up the knife and thrusting it in front of her face._

"_You must complete the sacrifice—the ritual cannot be stopped!" He growled, along with many in the crowd._

"_Hircine will revoke his blessings!" An elder shouted. "The girl has to die!"_

"_I can't, father!" Sabierelie cried, shaking with self-disgust and shame. "I can't!"_

_He had his hands on her shoulders, his silver eyes boring into her through his tribal mask. _

_Suddenly an alarm horn call sounded. "Madanach!"a guard shouted fearfully. "Nords!"_

_Her father whirled from her, still gripping the dagger and staring out at the hill. A battalion of Nord's was mounted there. They yelled a cry of war and charged down the hillside, running straight into the camp._

"_Bring up your arms and defend Druadach!" Her father called, raising the blade and running into the fray. Sabierelie stood trembling, not sure what to do, her mind still clouded with mixed emotions. Unable to comprehend what was going on, she fled from the shrine and hid in one of the tents. _

_Clashing and yelling filled her ears and she pressed her hands to her head, trying to force them out. Peering through the flap, she saw men and woman falling down, deaths on both sides, their blood staining the earth. _

_An elderly Nord broke from the fray and charged up the stairs to the table where the sacrificial victim was still bound. He pulled a dagger from his belt and cut her free, picking her up into his arms as she clung to him for protectively her wailing reaching Sabierelie's muffled ears. _

_ "Kill the Forsworn!" The man cried raising a sword triumphantly. "Burn them all!" He then scrambled down, leading the traumatized woman to safety. More and more Forsworn fell, their magicka no longer enough. Hircine's blessing was gone. _

xxx

I come to, and realize I can hardly breathe, but it gets easier as the dust begins to settle. I cough long and hard, trying to get the grit out of my lungs and mouth. It is pitch black, and I find myself struggling to move. I quickly realize a good portion of my body is piled under rocks. As the numbness goes away, the pounding pain takes hold. My ribs pinch and ache, my left leg sears with blinding pain, and I can just feel that most of my fingers are bent at unnatural angles.

Coughing some more and tasting blood, I begin to panic and fumble my arms trying to get them free, ignoring the tremendous pain it causes me. Soon it will all be gone.

It's hard to concentrate, and it takes longer than it should've, but I'm finally able to invoke a healing spell. Slowly, energy seeps back into my battered, contorted body and with the sound of a few sickening snaps. My bones realign and heal.

As my health is regenerating, I feel a different kind of draining within my soul. My magicka is running out, making me feel lightheaded and weak. I stop the spell at once, grunting as some of the unhealed pain flares again. I need to conserve my magicka energy. Who knows what I'll need it for down here.

Suddenly I remember I'm not alone.

"Vorstag?" I call, new energy in my voice. I begin to push the debris off, panic growing as he does not respond to my continuous calls. Once I'm free, I get on my feet, biting back groans of protest, and begin searching for him beneath the rocks. Cursing at the complete darkness, I cast magelight. The tunnel lights up within seconds as the tiny star shines brilliantly above my head. He's nowhere to be seen and I hear nothing besides the creaking and shifting of the ruins as they settle into their new shape.

Clawing at rocks, not sure where to start, I uncover a bruised, bloody arm. "Vorstag!" I reach to it, my hands shaking nervously, and check for a pulse. Completely still while waiting for a sign he's alive, I begin to lose hope. But then the vein pumps under my forefinger.

"You're alive!" I breathe, relief and adrenaline replacing my despair and fear. It's a weak pulse, but it's still there. I begin to pull rocks off, one by one, careful not to further damage his broken body.

Uncovering his head, which miraculously was not bashed in, I hear his faint, painful breathing. Resisting the urge to pull his body out, I begin casting healing hands on where he lay. The affects take hold immediately, mending his cuts and healing any broken bones, just as they did to me.

His eyes slide open about half way, as he begins to come to and he moves his ragged hand up to his face. Orange-yellow light swirls around it protectively as I continue to cast, and he watches it for a moment, confused.

Suddenly, he flings it away as if a spider had been crawling on him, and scrambles against the rocks in fear. Groggy and alarmed, he looks to me, seeing the tendrils of healing power rushing from my hands. His eyes grow wide with realization.

"What are you doing?!" he yells in mixed fear and disgust.

Flinching at his outburst, I drop my hands at once. I stumble backward from weariness and find myself against the rocks opposite of him. "Vorstag!" I say timidly. "It's okay! It was just—,"

"Was that some sort of…healing spell?" He says, examining the cuts and breaks that I had cured. He looks to me, a mixture of emotions I couldn't understand. But the one I could see, flashing powerfully in his eyes, was loathing.

"It's healing hands." I say, putting my hands up defensively. He recoils from my movement, distrustful. "It's Restoration magick. It saved you."

He begins grabbing at the rock wall behind him, clawing his way into a standing position, but never breaks eye contact with me. He views me as a threat, a dangerous animal that needs to be put down. Glancing at my illumination ball lighting the room and at the cave-in around us, his eyes dart back to me, narrow and shooting daggers.

"You did this." He says through bared teeth.

"What?" I say, faltering. Quickly, I realize he's accusing me of the collapse. "No! I didn't!" I yell defensively, scared of him for the first time.

"Liar!" He shouts above my pleas. "You aren't a Nord, are you? Almost all Nords resent and refuse to learn magick." I look down, affirming his accusation. "Who are you?"

I don't reply.

"Who are you!?"

I look up at him, my face stony and hateful. "I'm a Breton. Why does it matter?"

"I never would have come with you if I knew that!" He spits, his voice full of unknown hatred. "You deceived me and trapped me here!"

"Are you serious?" I shout back with disgust of my own. "I never said I was a Nord. That was all your idea. And I tried to get you to leave this place—I literally tried to drag you out before it all collapsed."

He bites back his response, almost feeling guilty. Almost. Looking around, he asks bitterly, "And what exactly is this place?"

I look down, biting my cheek. He's quiet as he waits for my answer. "According to the markings around the door frame…" I don't want to continue. I know what new question my answer will prompt. A question I have sworn to never answer or admit.

"The Daedric carvings?" He prompts in a hushed voice.

I nod. Closing my eyes, I continue, "This is a shrine to Boethiah. The Daedric Prince of Murder and Deceit."

"How would you know that?" He breathes, eyes wide in terror.

I don't answer. I won't answer. Never.

"You're a Forsworn, aren't you?!"

No reply from me affirms his guess.

"You're a damned Forsworn!" He's almost laughing now, a hate-filled unbelieving laugh.

"I didn't choose it!" I yell suddenly, his laughter ceasing immediately."You think I wanted that life! I left the second I got a chance! I've been running from those roots since I was a little girl!"

"The Forsworn killed my family!" He yells back. I grow still, feeling bad for his loss and understanding his hate. I know exactly what he's feeling. Except it was not the same. My family was killed for their evil, his was killed for revenge.

Without breaking our death gaze I reply. "And the Nords killed mine."

xxx

I was still seated on the rock pile, refusing to move. Vorstag had left my service after that, heading down the tunnel, which had miraculously not been blocked. His harsh parting words that he would make it out of this damned place alive still rang in my ears. I had refused to follow.

During our fight, I nearly expected him to try to kill me. He looked at me as if I was a Daedra myself. But that's basically what the Forsworn were—worshipers to those who dwell in the Oblivion. Sacrificing mortals to achieve great power. I look down to my dagger. Sacrificing their souls to achieve great power. They only wanted to reclaim their homelands—they just went about it in the wrong, and extremely evil, way.

Planning on waiting only an hour, I got up when that time expired. I expected to find his body somewhere down there or to eventually catch up to him. He would just love that. But what was I supposed to do? Wait in this dead end forever? I had quickly come to terms with my situation and, being adaptable, I knew it was time to find a way out. Hopefully with the mercenary alive.

As I walk through the dim tunnels, my fear slowly returns. I try to push it down, but it's not that easy. I'm not afraid of the dead Draugr lying on the stone floors (most likely fresh kills from Vorstag) but of what I will find at the end of the ruins. What Vorstag will find. I shudder and reflexively grasp my dagger.

_Don't be afraid, _my father coos. _You have nothing to worry about so long as you follow the tradition._ I grow rigid, almost pulling my hand away from the hilt.

"I won't do it," I say to him. "Your choices and life aren't mine. I won't serve them."

_Then good luck getting out of here_. He growls_. Boethiah is not as swayable as Hircine._ _She always gets what she's after—she's probably the one who guided your lot here. _

"Stop it." I say, cringing at the thought.

_Deceit and murder are her domain. _He continues mockery in his voice. _Your lies to the Nord drew her attention, and now you know what she wants next._

I release it, refusing to listen to his poisonous word any longer. I will not sacrifice a soul to further my cause. Never again.

xxx

_Madanach crawled up the stairs to the altar, breathing heavily as the blood poured from his side. He turned, looking back on the fight, cursing the Nord's gods with all his might. Hircine had abandoned them—the sacrifice had not been made. _

_Suddenly, his daughter was beside him, her young and horror filled face searching over his wounds as she tried her to perform healing hands as her mother once taught her. _

"_No." he said grabbing her arm, halting the spell. "There is no need."_

"_But Father…" she mewled, her tears falling upon his scarred, bare chest, "You'll die."_

_He breathed in heavily as he saw more and more of his brothers fall. Pulling his mask from his head to help the air flow, he stared long and hard into his girl's weepy eyes. _

"_You must make the sacrifice." He said throatily, thrusting the dagger back to her. "You must stab me in my briar-heart and absorb my soul for Hircine."_

_The horror grew on her face and she sobbed no, shaking her head violently. Desperately, he grabbed her shirt-front and pulled her close to him._

"_It is the only way to save our people. Blood must be paid!"_

_He pushed the dagger into her grasp, closing her numb fingers around the hilt. Once she had taken hold, he let his arms fall eagle spread, willing Hircine to take the offering. _

_Sabierelie raised the blade high above her head, crying uselessly but no longer shaking. A Nord noticed what was being done, turning quickly to the savages and running to stop their evil. _

_She looked into her father's silver eyes, the eyes begging her to give him up. "I love you father." She whispered to him. Then she drove the dagger into his chest. _

_Light shot out from the deathblow, racing upward and pouring into Hircine's monument with a piercing shriek. _

_The Nord fell backward blinded by the silvery light. He struggled to stand and lifted his blade over the sorceress, bringing it down hard. Sabierelie flinched instinctively, bringing her arm up to block the blow. It never came. _

_She opened her eyes to see she had conjured up a perfect ward, something she never could do before. The Nord jumped back as his blade reverberated off the magical force field and he bared his teeth in hate, swinging again. She wretched the blade from her father's lifeless chest, ready to fight the intruder. _

Go!_ Her father's voice shrieked suddenly in her head. _Drive them back!

_Sabierelie stood timidly, confused and disoriented, but raised up her arms in obedience casting fire storm with unknown power. The Nords around her fell back, their dying screams echoing in her ears. _

_The remaining Forsworn looked to her, confused but joyous, and called her into the fray. Her feet guided her down the steps and she cast and ice spike into a Nord woman who approached her with a scream, her impaled body falling to the ground in a lifeless heap. She sent a chain of lightning around the remaining enemies, their bodies convulsing under the deadly shocks. One by one the enemies fell, until there were no more._

_The remaining Forsworn bowed to her, excepting her as their leader. _

_ No, she thought vigorously. What had happened? What had she done? She had murdered her father and Nords all so suddenly without a second though. Feeling energy leaving her, her knees buckled and she fell to the ground, staring at the orange tendrils of power seeping from her and back to the stature of Hircine. The Daedra had done this. He had used her for his evil. She would not serve it. Never. "No!" she shouted aloud to its marbled, towering form. _

Yes, my child! _Her father replied in her head_, You must take my place. Take back the Reach, avenge your fallen brethren!

_"Get out of my head!" she yelled, once again covering her ears. The Forsworn looked up, concerned. One approached her, her hand out reassuringly. Sabierelie slapped it away, and stumbled back. "Get away from me!" She yelled in retreat. _

_ She ran from the camp, not looking back. Whether the others perused her she did not know. What they did after that she did not know, for she never returned again. _


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks for all the support! Sorry its been like a month since the last update! Been super busy and trying to plot this out just right! Enjoy and leave any comments or suggestions! :)**

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"I can't get through."

I find Vorstag sitting on a crumbling, stone pillar in a torch lit cavern with a large, intricate door blocking the way forward. His blond hair is down and messy and there are a few fresh cuts on his arms, alluding to his recent fight with the undead. His war-paint is smeared and he glistens with sweat, breathing heavily. He's like a trapped animal beginning to go mad.

"The door is activated by pulling these two levers down," he huffs, pointing to the levers on opposite walls, "But they need to be pulled at the same time. Otherwise the gears reset and the door won't open." His voice is bitter and he sighs in frustration, looking to me with contempt.

Realization hits me. "You need my help." I meant it to be a statement, but it sounded more like a question. He sighs again, reluctant to accept the turn of his situation, but he knew he would never make it out without my help. We were stuck together from here on out.

"I'll help you, Vorstag," I said slyly with a small smile. "But from now on we stick together. There's no way we'll make it out of this hell hole unless we form a truce."

He paused, his jaw clenched, and studied me. I could see in his eyes he had calmed down, and that some part of him knew I was the same person he had met at the inn. I just wasn't a Nord. I waited for his inevitable acceptance, but after a minute he still hadn't answered.

"If my race is going to be an issue—," I began, crossing my arms.

"All right!" He blurts finally, sounding riled. "All right. But I have a condition as well. No more magic."

"Magicka." I correct, eyes narrowed. He was so blind to the subject I found it irksome.

"Whatever," he says, standing up. He approached me in a cautious demeanor, as if he were about to pet a wolf, but was ready to fix the mess we were in. "Do I have your word?"

I swore, and he did the same. I knew this new partnership would be nowhere as easy or cocky as the first, for we would always be keeping one eye on the other, waiting for a knife in the back (or in my case an ice spike) and would be more eager to help ourselves rather than each other. But we needed each other. And once we made it out, we'd never have to cross paths again.

We released hands, and I stepped backward, a little uncomfortable by his closeness. There was still so much hate and distrust in his eyes. I gave him a thin smile and side stepped, heading over to one of the levers. He was not going to make working together easy, but I wouldn't let his prejudice phase me. Or at least I would try.

He watched me for a moment, then mimicked, walking over to the other lever. I look back at him and see him waiting, still cautious but now with a spark of excitement. He loves the thrill of adventure, even if this one happens to be in a Daedric shrine.

"On three." I say, as he places his hand on his lever. I count and we pull, listening to the grinding gears that roll the large door open and rattle the stone walls around us. He looks at me, no smile on his face, and walks inside, taking the lead, trusting me to obey the alliance and blindly follow.

xxx

"Duck!" Vorstag warns as he swings the sword over my head, slicing a Draugr in its stringy throat. He kicks it in the gut with his boot and sends it flying to the floor, where it grunts and tries to pull itself up again.

He leaps over me, his sword pointing downward, and lands on top of it, stabbing it where its heart used to be. It howls as the death blow hits, and then suddenly quiets as the bluish light leaves its eyes.

Dead. Or, re-dead, suppose.

Vorstag slowly stands, his back to me, and wipes the residue off his sword with his bare hand, flinging it to the floor. He sheathes it and turns to me, offering a hand up then quickly retracting it as he remembers he is supposed to hate me.

I give him a thankless smile and push myself up, stretching my sore muscles. I find my sword gracelessly cast upon rocky debris. I weave around the lifeless Draugr, trying my best not to think about how many I actually killed. But the shameful number seeps into my head the moment I tell myself not to think about it.

Two.

Two Draugr out of the six that attacked us. One was a lucky stab in the head, and the other was just finishing off Vorstag's work. I quietly pick up my sword and sheathe it, then walk back over to Vorstag, who looks all too happy with himself.

"Fighting not as easy without magic?" He says, mockery in his voice. I ignore him and walk past, looting the Draugr he just killed. "I could tell you were just burning to use it, especially when that Deathlord shouted your sword from your hand."

He was right. I was burning. But not because I couldn't use my magic, but because I was fighting back rage. I could just feel the lava bubbling in my throat, forcing the angry words out before I could censor them.

"I don't fight with magicka, you dumb brute." I spit, throwing half the coins his way. He easily catches them and slips them into his belt pouch. I don't want to argue with him, but I know it's too late now. I just instigated a quarrel that could quickly turn ugly.

He almost laughs at this. "No wonder your previous adventures turned out so poorly."

I gape at him, trying to form the words to make him understand. "You assume too much." I growl back walking away from him. "I never even said I liked magicka, or even that I was good at it." I almost explain my past to him, but catch myself. Why do I even care if he understands me or not? I'll never see him again after we make it out of here. I'm a loner, a self-exiled barbarian, and will always be.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asks, but it sounds more like a taunt. "You Forsworn love magic and take so much pride in it. Maybe you ran away like you said, maybe what they did scared you. Maybe you really do hate that life. But guess what Saber! You haven't written it off completely. You still use magic."

I stop walking, clenching my fists. This ruthless, fight-before-flight, mercenary has just called out my life's problem. An inner battle I've been waging with myself for years. But I can't just let him expose me like that. So I whirl at him.

"You know, I have just as much reason to hate Nords as you do Bretons." I say angrily. "They stole our land and forced us into exile. It was only natural for us to retaliate."

"Sacrificing young men and women is not natural," he snarls back at me.

"I never said I agreed with the Forsworn's methods." I say, offended once again by him placing me into that savage group. "They are evil. I know that and that's why I left."

"Maybe, but that doesn't erase what you did. What your people did."

"I never said that either." I realize I truly want him to understand, to make him understand. "You think you know me. You think you know what happened. Why do you think I was trying to outrun my past, Vorstag? Why do you think I was so eager to pretend I was a Nord? Tell me!"

He has backed away from me slightly, but enough to tell me I'm scaring him. Good, my darker side thinks, show him who is boss. But I ease my anger, calming myself down. He's gaping now, and I realize I had asked him a question. A question neither of us wants him to answer.

"I hate the Forsworn and the Daedra and magicka." I say, my voice slow an octave lower than before. "But deep down I know it will always be a part of who I am." He doesn't respond, but I think he's dwelling on my words, rather than ignoring them. Maybe he is trying to understand, somewhere in that thick head of his, maybe he wants a reason to let go of his hate. But then he starts walking away. Fast. I scurry after him, not finished with what I was saying.

"Look, I understand you hate the Forsworn and everything to do with them, but that's no reason to hate all Bretons and magickas. You can't stereotype people and powers like that. It's wrong and cruel and narrow minded."

He stops and I nearly crash into him. I stumble back suddenly but regain my composure to find him staring down at me, fire in his eyes. Literally, the torches are reflecting in his eyes.

"Don't lecture me about how I should feel." He says with a low, threatening growl. "Just because you can forgive Nords for trashing your barbaric camp doesn't mean I can forgive Bretons for slaughtering my family. We are nothing alike and you can never fully understand—,"

"Stop!" I say, suddenly, pressing my hand to his mouth.

He splutters, and yanks it away in disgust. "What the hell—?"

"Shhh!" I say glancing around the deep catacombs. "I hear something."

He is calm and alert the second the ominous words leave my lip, hand on his sword and back to mine, ready for whatever daemon may appear.

The sound resonates in the tomb, and dust falls from the ceiling as rotted beams quiver from the resonation. It is not the bark of a Draugr, or even a Deathlord, but something far, far worse.

The piercing cry of a daemon I'd only seen in my nightmares. A Dremora.

xxx

"Get down!" I hiss at Vorstag from my bunkered position. "You need to hide. Now."

"What's that matter?" He hisses back, still peering from behind the wall trying to get a glimpse of the daemon. "Why are we hiding and not taking whatever made that noise's head?"

"I told you it's a Dremora!" I whisper yell, desperately trying to make him understand.

"Yeah, I heard you the first time." He murmurs sarcastically. "And like the first time, I don't believe it. Dremora are rumors, dark magic shit meant to scare little kids from playing in the dark. And just like the Daedra, they aren't real. False idols worshiped by mind-warped barbarians." He gets up, stalking forward warily, convinced I'm wrong.

I slip out from my spot and call after him, begging him not to go further. To wait it out, to come up with a plan. "They are as strong as entire pack of wolves, as fast and bloodthirsty as a night stalker, as cunning as a silver-blood." I recite, my eyes glazing as I recount the horror stories my father would tell me when I was bad. "May Hircine never send them upon you."

I shake my head, clearing the fear induced relapse and notice he is gone. "Vorstag?" I call tentatively. "Vorstag?!" I rush from the spot and head down the dark tunnel, swallowing me further into the belly of the earth. I call his name again, quieter. No response.

He couldn't have gotten far, I tell myself, searching in the darkness and resisting the urge to conjure up magelight. I may hate magicka, but like Vorstag said I sometimes find it hard to resist the easiness of its power. I swallow down the urge and pull myself together.

Red light flares all around and wind howls.

I stagger, blinded by the sudden, though muted, light and stifle a scream. Caught off guard, I fall back and blink hard, trying to make out the moving shapes. There are two bodies in the darkness; one with horns standing tall with its clawed hand around the other's neck.

"Are you prepared for your death?" The Dremora hisses with glee into Vorstag's face as he strangles him. Vorstag gags and splutters, clawing at the vice grip on his neck. "So valiant, so brave, so…mortal." It coos, lazily stroking his face with its free hand.

It stops suddenly, a hush coming across the dimly lit, ebony black cavern. The Dremora sniffs deeply then smiles, its head turning in a sickening fashion, its red face gleaming my way.

"A challenger is near…" It says with a daunting growl. "Another one seeking death." It tosses Vorstag to ground in a lifeless heap.

No, not lifeless, my heart grasps greedily. I can still hear his ragged, pained breath. He coughs suddenly and tries to push himself up, but the daemon clubs him in the head and he goes still. "Don't go anywhere, brave mortal." It hisses at him, and then turning it stalks forward, searching for me.

I have hidden behind one of the few standing pillars holding the red torches. I ease around it as the Dremora grows near, careful not to let the light catch my faint shadow. I hold my breath, thinking of a way to defeat the daemon.

"You have come to see Boethiah," it calls in a ragged voice. "You come to be her champion?" It jumps to a pillar, slashing the air with its claws, its wicked smile fading upon realizing I'm not there.

I make it around the pillar and run to the next, barely catching its eye. It laughs and creeps to the spot I just left, it red face and armor frightfully glaring in the dark. "Boethiah awaits your sacrifice, young Forsworn." It says again, searching for me. "But a mortal cannot simply approach her altar. A mortal must prove herself by destroying ME!"

It lurches at me, a frenzy of hisses and growls, grabbing at my armor and wrenching it off, leaving just my worn leather clothes underneath. I fall to the floor from the force, but quickly roll out of the way as it strikes again.

I want to hide again, but it has found me. There is no more hiding. I turn and face the Dremora head on. "I shall honor my lord by destroying you!" It wails, drawing its blade, ready for our fight.

I reach for my own but find myself grasping empty air. Shit. Shit shit shit. Shit.

I look around frantically to find it connected to the belt on the armor that was ripped off, which is unfortunately right behind the Dremora. My daedric blade is still with me though, I realize as my fingers graze its cold hilt. I clasp my hand around and wrench it free, ready to face my doom.

_Doom, child?_ My father's voice says sadly. I can just see him shaking his head. _You don't need that rude metal strip to banish this beast to the Oblivion. The power is right inside you, can't you feel it burning in your finger-tips, swirling in your soul? _

"No father! I won't use it! I won't!" I say aloud, causing the Dremora to pause. It cocks it head in confusion.

"Something wrong, mortal?" It asks, feigning concern. It breathes in deeply once again and exhales, "I smell weakness…" It takes a threatening step forward, blade ready.

_I won't let you throw your life away over this petty fear of yours! _He growls in my ear. _You will not lose this fight. _Suddenly the dagger blazes in my hand, burning my palm. I drop it in a flash of pain and it scatters across the smooth, cold floor. Out of reach. The red light it yields fades. Out of sight.

The Dremora gets closer, laughing at my foolishness for dropping my blade and smiling wickedly. It raises the blade high, anticipating me not to resist defeat.

My power burns within me.

I swore I wouldn't.

The Dremora is so close I can almost smell it.

To myself and to Vorstag.

It brings the blade down.

And all of the Oblivion breaks loose.


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry this one is a little shorter! I hope you guys like it!**

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The fire storm clears and I push myself up, reaching out to a pillar as my body begins to teeter. My head is spinning and I blink back the black dots that swim in my vision. I over did it. My body wasn't used to releasing so much magicka. I hadn't done that much damage since…

My thoughts are interrupted by a pained moan. The Dremora.

I slide to the ground, the pillar supporting me in a sitting position and scan the blown out cavern. Scorch marks line the black walks and crackle as their flames die, and what wood was there now burn ferociously, though isolated, casting dancing shadows everywhere. I can't see it, but I can hear it cough for air. Or is that me? Or Vorstag?

Suddenly I see it crawling from the dark, its armor sparking with flames and skin stinking of burnt flesh. I swallow the bile that rises in my throat and begin to push away from it. But it isn't crawling towards me. It's crawling to Vorstag.

"No." I say weakly, pulling myself upright again, staggering forward. I have to protect him, to finish off the daemon. Somehow.

"It cannot end like this…" it hisses, voice ragged with pain. "I must serve my lord, I must destroy…" It coughs again and wails clutching itself. I can only imagine the damage I had done to its body. Oh gosh…to Vorstag? That was not a controlled blast, I know because I had no control over it. It roared out of me, years of subdued power itching to be released. All gone in one swell of desperation.

"If I am to die like this," it spits, crawling forward again, "I will not go alone. I will take your sacrifice with me. Then all your trouble here will be for naught." He laughs at this idea, savoring this small victory. It is almost upon Vorstag, reaching its clawed hand back to his bruised throat.

I see a sword in front of me. Who it belongs to I don't know, but I reach for it, forcing my lead legs forward. The metal is hot in my hand and I wince, biting back a wail. But I can't give up now. I won't let Vorstag die. Never.

"Oblivion take us both…" it murmurs hungrily as its claws enclose, beginning to squeeze, crushing his already weak air flow.

"NO!" I am there. I bring down the blade in a stabbing motion with unknown force and a grunt of victory. The hot metal breaks through its brittle amour and the daemon gasps, releasing it death grasp. I twist the blade, and black bile oozes from its agape, toothy mouth. It chokes, turning its wide, fearful eyes towards me as it meets Arkay. It's body sags, crumpling into a bluish powered beneath my feet.

Dead.

I hear the trapped breath leave Vorstag as the demonic hand disintegrates. I drop the blade and I bend down to brush off the Dremora's dust. He is badly bruised and a few flecks of red dots his lips. His throat has the worst of it. I can see the imprint of the claw clearly, bruised and scratched, but still intact. But then I notice that something's wrong. He's not breathing.

I heard him exhale, but his body is refusing to inhale. "No, Vorstag," I say, getting nervous, my voice rising, and I gently shake his shoulders. He doesn't stir. "Vorstag, hey, wake up, no you can't be dead." I cry, my shaking getting a little rougher.

Then I breathe. Two breaths into his mouth. Then I pump. Thirty compressions.

I repeat this procedure, and suddenly he coughs, a bloody cough, then raggedly inhales, wheezing in pain. But it's a breath. His eyes roll open and he tries to breathe again, but his windpipe is crushed.

"Vorstag," I say, joy and fear in my heart, "It's the only way." Summoning what's left of my energy, I gently place my fingers on his neck and cast healing hands. The orange-white light swirls in and out, restoring his throat to its proper position. He gasps suddenly as his lungs find air, breathing violently, greedy for his second chance at life. He coughs some more but he's okay now. All better…

I slump on top of him, my head swimming and vision going in and out. I feel him move underneath me, pulling himself up, checking his re-healed parts. Then his hands find me. They twist around me, hesitantly but gentle, and he holds me to his chest. He brushes the messy, singed hair out of my face and stares down at me, his hazel eyes searching for mine.

"You saved me."

I give him a weak smile, the darkness of sleep gripping my mind.

"Thank you."

Blackness.

xxx

I wake up, finding myself hanging downwards and staring at Vorstag's butt. My head bobs uncomfortably against his back and my arms are numb. I've been in this position for a while. As my body regains its feeling, I feel his armor pinching into my leather-bound chest uncomfortably, and I squirm, trying to reposition myself.

"You awake?" He asks, shifting his hold on me. He stops walking and begins to set me down. He tries to place me on my feet, but I let myself flop to the floor. I rub my eyes and roll my joints. They pop and groan, but leave me feeling alert and loose.

"How long?" I ask, trying to stand. My body is sluggish, but I'll be able to move.

"We were in that forsaken death-trap for probably an hour, and then we traveled for about another." He looked down into the descending darkness, an eerie gleam in his eye. "It just keeps going…" He turned to me and offers a hand, which I graciously take, and hauls me up. He's about to sling an arm under mine to help me move, but I push it away.

"Thanks, but I got it." I say with a weak smile. "It's just fatigue. I'm not hurt."

"From using magicka?" He asks, face bright and interested.

"Yeah," I say, glancing away. "It drains me. I can only use it so much and for so long. As I regain strength I can use more. Just like if you were to sprint and wear yourself out. You'd be able to sprint again after you got your energy back." He nods in understanding, then motions for us to continue forward.

We move quietly and at a slower pace. It's incredibly dark besides the red torches, the new theme since we've awaken the Daedra. "If you're feeling up to it," he begins timidly, "feel free to make it brighter."

I stop, cocking my brow. He stops as well, looking to me eagerly. "You mean you want me to use magicka?" I ask, amused and a little off-guard.

He bites his bottom lip, refusing to make eye contact and mumbles, "Look, I don't like it but look at this place. It's a darkness I've never faced before. That beast killed me. I stood no chance. Your power is the only way I can see us making out alive."

"But I'm an untrustworthy Forsworn." I reply, quoting his previous hatred.

He pauses, and glances up, eyes locking on mine. And I know whatever he will say next is something that is true. "I trust you."

I feel something catch in my throat. I'm at a loss for words. He accepted me for who I am and what I was. Who cares if it took me saving his life? Twice. He trusted me.

I cast Candlelight.

xxx

The path ended. Neither of said anything at first, simply pressed against the wall, searching for another route. There was an embossed circle on its surface, but nothing else. After a few minutes I knew this was useless.

"Are you sure you didn't head down another path?" I ask, crossing my arms. "No forks in the road during my blackout session?"

"Yes," he said, feeling and tracing his fingers on the stone wall. "I can feel a groove hear," He said, letting his finger bite into the rock. "And it traces upward and around, seeming to form some sort of door." He demonstrated this as well, then turned to me. "You think you could blast it open?"

I almost laugh, but catch myself. He's still learning. "Probably not, and any destruction magicka I could use would cause more harm to us than the door." I turn to it, staring hard, arms crossed. "We're thinking about this the wrong way." I pause to see if he's listening. "This isn't a Nordic crypt—no booby traps and secret levers—this is a Daedric shrine. A sacrificial ground."

"So do they want a sacrifice?" He asks, edging away from the now demonic door.

"Not exactly," I say slowly biting my lip in thought. I turn to him. "I think they want a payment."

"A payment?"

"Not gold our anything material—something more precious."

"Like blood?" We both grimace.

"It's worth a try," I say pulling out my dagger. Vorstag tries to stop me, but I slide it across my palm. It rips my calloused flesh painfully and I bite my cheek. I then press the bloodied hand onto the circle.

But nothing happens.

I let my hand fall away, quickly healing it and wiping away the blood. "I don't understand," I say turning away. "It should of worked."

"Saber!" Vorstag says in alarm, "Look!"

I turn quickly to see the blood print soak into the stone, out of existence.

"What the—," Then the ground begins to rumble.

A low, pleased sigh rings as the doorsslides down, revealing the way forward. Vorstag grows tense, and I bristle as a cold, sickly air rushes past us. It smells like death.

_The sacrificial chamber. _My father says. _It is time._


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry it's been awhile! Been trying to work out how I wanted this scene to go, so I hope you guys like it! Leave any comments or suggestions. There will be one more chapter after this.**

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Boethiah's altar was the first thing I saw when we stepped through the newly opened doorway. I had lived under the shadow of Hircine's shrine for twelve years and had heard about the other shrines through traveler's stories, but its horrific grandeur stopped me cold.

Boethiah, depicted as a women, rose from ebony stone in the coils of a giant snake. The grotesque creature entwined around her resembling arms and billowing clothes. One snake arm was raised as if it were about to strike down, wielding a nasty sword about the size of my body. The head was hooded, leaving a dark gap where her face should be. It seemed to stare right into me, beckoning me test her will.

Someone was going to die. Someone had to die.

Vorstag stepped forward while I remained frozen, his sword drawn and moving like a man who was lost, desperately looking for a way out. I watched silently as he walked the perimeter of the dark room. Momentarily, he disappeared behind the altar and curved his way back towards me.

"The room is a perfect circle," he said in a rushed voice, pointing. "The ceiling curves up, and it seems to open right at the top. See that grayish light?"

I tore my eyes from the statue and looked to where he pointed. Peering at the hole, I guessed that it cut all the way up to the surface. My eyes followed the circular light shaft down to the area it illuminated. A spiraled engraving with a post at the center. A rotting skeleton laid at its base.

"That hole's got to go all the way to the top," Vorstag continued, rubbing his arms. "There seems to be no other way out, and I don't think we'll be finding any trick doors this time." He dropped a bag from his back and began rifling through it, pulling out ropes and hooks.

"No trick doors." I repeated, watching him. I felt my eyes glaze with bitter tears.

He tossed me rope. "Start knotting," he said as he tied intervals into his own. I didn't move, letting the rope fall to the floor. He turned to me, desperation in his eyes. "Saber, come on."

"Vorstag," I said, sucking in a shaky breath. "Stop. You know it's pointless."

His face darkened and he barked, "I'm not going to sit here and do nothing! Don't you go giving up on me. We've gone to far to just quit at a dead end." I flinched at his voice. It was laced with fear. Not fear from being trapped in Daedra infested bowels of the earth, but fear of betrayal. I was breaking our truce. I was giving up.

"What are you planning on doing then?" I shot back, misery and hollow laughter all in one. "How are you planning on reaching that hole?"

"We can climb the statue."

"You know that opening is not big enough for you to crawl through."

He sighed angrily and began shoving the rope back into his sack. "Then we'll just go back and find another way out." He slung it over his shoulder and walked to the enchanted doorway.

"Vorstag!" I shouted, letting two tears fall. The salty water left pink streaks on my dirty face, but I quickly rubbed them away before he turned back. "You know what this place is. Someone must die." The dark words hung in the musty air, proclaiming a truth he refused to believe.

He stared at me, shifting his weight uncomfortably. After a moment he replied in a heavy, gritted voice, "What are you saying, Saber? You're going to kill me? That why you kept me alive this long, so I could die when it was most convenient?" He paused. "Or are you offering to sacrifice yourself to save me as some twisted way of repenting for your sins?"

"You need to live."

"And you hired me to make sure _you_ lived." He said flatly. "And I plan on honoring our agreement."

"Vorstag," I gulp, breaking eye contact, "Please..."

"Saber," He says, turning away but still looking at me over his shoulder, "This offer is very noble of you, but you're forgetting one thing: I don't do listen to daemons. It says one of us has to die? Well, I say we both live. Now come on." He then continues walking toward the doorway.

I just offered to die for him, to let him live, to show the Daedra and my father that I am not ruled by their whims and traditions. That I would never sacrifice someone else ever again. That I would die in place of the victim. But now I only feel embarrassed. This whole time I preached to Vorstag about how I've rejected the Daedric worship and barbaric ways of the Forsworn, how I will forever reject their commands. But now at the end I tell him I'm giving up on our truce. I'm accepting their terms. I quickly chase after him.

My epiphany is short lived, however, for the stone doorway suddenly seals shut.

"What the hell?" Vorstag sputters, quickly stepping back for his foot was just about to cross the threshold. Recovering, he reaches out and presses on the reformed wall, looking for the cracks and engravings. There are none on this side.

A deep, yet feminine, hiss rings in the cavern, reverberating off the walls and rushing past us in a cold wind. The howling wind sounds like amused laughter.

"Saber?" Vorstag says, looking to me with wide and worried eyes that seem to be searching for something. The wind whips our matted hair about, stinging my eyes. "What's going on? What does she want?"

"We need to leave, now!" I yell, pulling out my dagger and slashing my palm once again.

_You know what must be done!_ My father yells the instant I make contact with the blade's hilt. _Your disregard of her command has angered her!_

Ignoring him, I bloody the doorway, waiting for the red liquid to soak into the wall. But nothing happens. My blood-print remains on the black stone, shining gruesomely in the unnatural light.

"Maybe it needs new blood?" Vorstag yells over the rushing sound, he grabs the dagger from my hand, attempting to slice his own, when he suddenly gasps in pain. The dagger glows bright red and his drops it to the floor, holding his burnt hand in confusion. He looks to me, but my eyes are no longer on him, but at the sacrificial dais. He follows my gaze.

Back at the dais, the skeleton has begun to glow with harsh blue light, it's contorted form rising upward like a puppet with no strings. Its body heaves upward and the light shoots from its orifices. Suddenly the light and wind pulse outward and the glowing skeleton falls to the ground. The room grows still once again. But something besides the animated corpse is wrong.

My brain explodes and the world spins in flashing light. I scream, falling forward, my hands clenching my skull. I feel my teeth grinding and taste blood as they uncontrolably bite down on my tongue. It's like a seizure, but worse. It's a seizure brought upon by a cruel otherworldly force for amusement.

"Ahhhhgh," a throaty feminine voice drawls, yet the sound shrieks in my ears, threatening to split my skull open. I cry out in pain for every word feels like a flame inside my head. "Wearing flesh is so...distasteful."

I struggle to turn my head and, through the swirling and tears, I see Vorstag standing besides me, looking upon the corpse with disgust and horror. He seems not to be experiencing the same pain as me.

"What do you want from me?!" He bellows over my agonized din.

The daemon laughs, but it does not seem jovial. "So small, so...weak. So...moral. It disgusts me. Do you know who I am? I am the one who has been whispering in your ear. I am Boethiah. Queen of Shadows. Goddess of Destruction. She-Who-Erases. The one who cares only for those who care for themselves, who's hearts are full of purpose, who's lives are full of deeds. The most feared of my deadra brethren." The corpse then took a shaky step forward, the blue light flickering.

As it flickered I began to feel my head clear. The one whispering in my ear? All this time it had been Boethiah, not my father? But that makes no sense. My father's soul in in my blade, he talks to me when I...My blade. Slowly, I reach out and grasp my blade from where Vorstag let it fall. It flares at my touch, but my father says nothing. Grunting, I push myself into a standing position.

"You have rejected my calling, mortal." The corpse hisses, sounding both patronizing and impressed. "That was most unwise."

"I will never sacrifice for your kind again!" I yell, gripping the dagger till I'm white knuckled.

Boethiah's cold laughter stops abruptly, and she turns to me.

She turns to me.

She hadn't been talking to me at all.

She had been talking to Vorstag.

"I don't talk to my prey, especially the weak, outcasted followers of my brother Hircine." Suddenly the pain flares again and I fall. In my clumsy fit, the dagger cuts my hands, but I refuse to let go.

"Let her go, you withered bitch!" Vorstag shouts out, gingerly lifting his sword. "Stop hurting her!" This whole time I thought the Daedra had been guiding me here, setting me up for the fate I ran away from, taking personal interest in my lies and deceit. I had been so consumed in my own problems I forgot I was not the only person here with innermost struggles.

She says she is drawn to selfishness. Vorstag is a mercenary. A hired sword for the highest bidder. There isn't a more selfish occupation than that.

She says she is drawn to pride. Vorstag was definitely full of himself and over estimated his abilities, going as far to market himself.

And finally she says she is drawn to great achievements. I really knew nothing about Vorstag's back-story, other than that his family was killed a group of Forsworn. There were hundreds of Forsworn camps in Skyrim, not just mine. It was quite possible he had taken justice into his own hands.

This whole time she had been talking in his head, egging him on, begging him for blood. And this whole time he tried to ignore her, told himself it wasn't real. Just like I had done with my father's soul in the dagger.

_I was such a fool._ My father says finally, his voice weak. The red light in the dagger dulls and the blade cools._ Such a proud fool. I am sorry my child._

"You dare make demands of me?" Boethiah scoffs, turning back to Vorstag. "I abide only to those who's will is aligned to my own." It paused and a sickening smile crept onto its rotted face. "You have rejected my call for deceit, betrayal, and blood, young Nord. You should know that those who appose me perish in the most dreadful ways."

"I'm not afraid of you!" Vorstag spits ferociously, slowly moving his frame into a defensive stance. "And I will never be your Champion!"

"Is that so?" It says with mock surprise. Then pointing to me, "This one may be defiant, but she knows her place. If you won't trick her into being bound as my host, then I must do it myself."

"I will never do what you or any of your kind wants ever again!" I manage through gritted, blood flecked teeth. "I'd rather die than serve you!"

It laughs hysterically at this."Young mortal you forget that in order to serve me, I require you dead." Suddenly the blue light goes out and a whooshing sound emits from the corpse, causing it to collapsed to the floor in a broken heap.

Then my body hurtles to the sacrificial pole.

It happened so fast, almost magnetic, that I wasn't even aware I was flying until I slammed into the post and all the air left my lungs. This was followed by a sharp crunching sound and a dull ache that grew into white hot pain. Broken ribs.

Harsh blue light shot from the engravings around me, ancient symbols flashing in the stone. I began to push myself away, coughing up some blood when the same magnetic force yanked me around and pulled my arms back tight. My body arched upward and I cried out in pain as it stretched and popped my already broken ribcage. I meet Vorstag's horrified, shocked gaze, and call for help, uselessly struggling to break free. Only my feet move, but they weakly dangle in the air. I'm held fast by magic.

"Saber!" He yells, running to me, acting solely on instinct. Just before he makes it to the dais, a blue light bubbles around me. He crashes into it and tumbles to the floor. A ward. A powerful one. Boethiah's insurance. Only meant to allow weapons and magic through.

I grunt in pain, wincing for every breath makes the magical binding grow tighter. I feel like I'm being crushed, and every moment the stabbing pain in my chest increases making me dizzy. I must look like hell, for Vorstag is quick to scramble up and begins pounding on the ward, trying to break through. He raises his blade in an attempt to slice through it but I manage to yell for him to stop just in time.

"Vorstag!" I force out. "Don't!" Each word makes the binding power clench me tighter, choking me. "The ward...it allows weapons. Don't swing the sword."

He lowers it, the blade wobbling as his shoulders heave in tired frustration. "Saber, I'm so sorry." He says, panic and powerlessness overcoming him. He drops the blade and tries to force his way through the ward once again. "This is all my fault." He mutters. His hands begin to bleed from the pounding. I don't know which one of us is more helpless.

With one final blow, he stops, his head nodded against the ward, shoulders shaking slightly. I'd never seen him so broken. Not when the rocks fell, not when he learned the truth about me, and not when the Dremora defeated him. But the fact that he was rendered useless, his mission failed, had finally broken him down. This was the entertainment Daedra lived for.

The power tightens and I cough in pain, my body shaking involuntarily, fighting to escape. Vorstag looks up at me, eyes wet. "This is all my fault." He says weakly. "That-that monster spoke in my ears, she guided me here, she told me things. I pushed it all aside, ignored it. Thought I could overcome it." He looks down in shame, shaking his head. "I should have told you. You would've known what to do."

"No," I breathe in a painful choking sound, "I wouldn't have. I heard, well, thought I heard it too. I...I was no better. I'm sorry."

He looks back to me, his wet, hazel eyes searching mine. "I'm not going to kill you. I don't care. I won't, no matter what she does to me, I won't become a monster!" He picked up his sword, holding it as if it were a snake. No he wasn't going to...

"Vorstag!" I yelp, squirming, "Don't-you can't!" It's too late. He's tossed his sword into the ward; it passes through easily and lands with a clang at the base of the pole. He cannot get to it now if he wanted to or if I begged him to.

But I can get to mine.

I lost feeling in my hand awhile ago and had completely forgotten that I still hold my dagger. But I can't move my hand. I can't even release it from my grip. I inhale sharply as the pain grows, blurring my vision. Vorstag refused to kill me, but I'm still going to die from suffocation.

_You're not going to die. Or your friend._

'Father?' I think to him. 'What do you mean? I can't break free. Vorstag can't get to me.'

_Yes._ He says quietly, lovingly even. I hadn't heard him speak like that since my mother was alive. _Someone has to be sacrificed or neither of you will ever leave this place. But what you seem to forget is that you and him are not the only souls in this room. I am here, living in this dagger._

'What?!' I scream inside, appalled by him even mentioning the idea. 'No. I swore I'd never let your soul be used or released. Once you're gone from this state you will enter a fate worse than death. The Soul Carin...that's the worse fate imaginable. You'll wander in the void aimlessly until you've forgotten who you are and become a demon!'

_We don't know that for sure._ He says quietly. _Those are just stories, dark writings in books that should never be opened._

'I don't want to take the risk!' My body heaves again, breaths coming in and out in a tiny stream. One more constriction and I'll no longer be able to breathe. 'At least I'll go to the afterlife!'

_I'm damned anyway,_ he says gruffly. I can just imagine his face reddening and brows coming together the way he did whenever I countered his orders._ I can' let you die. Not like this. Not here. My soul will rest next to your dead body for all of eternity if that happens, always reminding me of how I didn't save you. That is a torture I cannot bear._

'I can't be responsible for losing you again.'

_Please, Saber._ His voice loses its fatherly love. _I order you to release my soul in offering to this Daedric bitch. How dare she insult our Hircine?_

I cough again and my airway closes off. This is it. Vorstag watches helplessly, screaming my name from the outside as my body spasms, fighting for air. Blood roars in my ears and the world is a blur, but I force what is left of my conscious into my hand . My thumb. It twitches, slowly reaching to the bottom of the dagger's hilt, the place where the soul gem is embedded.

And with one last spasmodic heave, I press.

Boethiah, take this soul as your sacrifice. Arkay, help him find new life.

And then my world goes black.


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry it's been like a month! Really have no excuse this time...but enjoy! Feel free to comment any suggestions for future adventures involving these two!**

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Vorstag's voice rings in the back of my consciousness, begging me to get up. I feel my body jostle, slowly pulling me from the darkness. How long had I been out? A few moments or a month? I couldn't tell.

"Saber!" He spoke softer, voice full of relief, as I opened my eyes. "By the power of Talos, I thought you had died!"

"I guess not," I manage, pushing myself away from him. He'd been holding me and, though the light was dim, I could tell he'd cried. My insides swirled nervously, and I let myself slide to the floor. I began to rub my temples. I could feel them throbbing under my calloused fingers. "What happened?"

"I was just about to ask you that."

"I'm—I'm not sure." I said slowly, trying to remember what happened, what I had done. "Oh no. Oh no!" I say, remembering the horrors that had transpired mere minutes ago. My hands began to tear and claw my face and hair as I recalled the evil I had done.

"Hey!" He said, reaching out and grabbing my wrists in effort to stop me from mutilating myself. "Hey, it's over! You're safe!" He then grabbed my scarred, bruised face in his large hands, cupping my cheeks. His hands were firm, but gentle as they directed my eyes to his. "We're safe. You saved us."

"My father—!" I cried, trying to pull away, "I killed him!"

"Saber, hey," he said pulling my gaze back to his. "Calm down. It's okay." His manner seemed different, like he was scared and joyous at the same time.

"But I killed him!"

"What do you mean?" He said, looking around nervously. "There's no one else here but you and me."

"My dagger," I said, tears flooding my eyes. "My dagger held my father's soul." I waited a moment, watching as the understanding filled his face. "Boethiah demanded an offering. I couldn't withstand her call. Not when it meant causing you to die."

His hands began to smooth my matted hair and he pulled me against him. I didn't resist. He held me there like a child, murmuring empathetically. "It's all right, it's all going to be all right. It's over. That soul gem was lost anyway. Maybe he can finally find peace."

"I—I know!" I said, quivering against him. "But I couldn't withstand her. I promised myself I'd never give into a Daedra again, that I'd never sacrifice someone for their cause."

He said nothing in return, for he knew it to be true. I had failed myself and no matter the reward I gained I could never recover from this loss. My sole goal in life had crumbled in just a few desperate, selfish moments. Was that really all it took to break my resolve? I guess so.

Just then the cavern began to rumble around us. We'd overstayed our welcome. "We should get out of here." He said, quickly remembering where we were. I slid from his grasp and mentally pieced myself back together. Our adventure wasn't over yet.

A door way had opened on the other side of the statue. It was so magnificent that it was hard to imagine it hadn't previously been there. Running through its archway, we headed up a steep stair incline. The ceiling was so low Vorstag had to hunch over. Still dizzy from my recent suffocation, I became winded pretty quickly, huffing painfully with each step. Vorstag reached back, hand out stretched. I graciously grabbed it and let him drag me along.

Suddenly the stair stopped, opening into a small room. The treasure room.

We halted, gawking at the piles of wealth. The room was littered with bags of gold and a variety of chests, the most impressive of which was in the room's center. The walls began to rumble as another quake thundered beneath us. Dust and grit fell from the ceiling.

"Come on!" Vortsag shouted, tugging me toward a smaller exit way. I ripped my hand from his.

"I'm not leaving without some loot!" I yelled at the top of my lungs, barreling to the grand chest. "Otherwise this whole escapade was for nothing!"

"Yeah, because you'll be able to spend all of it so well when you're dead!"

"SHUT UP!" I stuffed the bag full of the items in the large chest, not even looking at its contents, and silently praying I didn't grab hold of a blade.

"Saber, come on!" Vorstag called from the exit way, leading up into what looked like more darkness. Hopefully the exit hadn't been blocked off by a cave in as well, or our situation was about to get more complicated.

"Ok! Ok!" I yell back, frustrated by his sensibility. I couldn't grab anymore anyway. I had reached my weight limit. I noticed he also had swiped a bag on gold. It was bulging in his pack. "Don't judge me you hypocrite."

He flashed a wolfish smile laced with panic, and motioned for me to hurry. We burst up the stairway and into blackness once again.

Xxx

_Thud. Thud._

"Come on, Vorstag." I complained. The smell of the earth was making me sick. "I swear to Kynareth that if we make it out of here I'm never going back underground again."

"I've got it, just hold on."

_Thud. Thud._

_Crack._

The wooden hatch broke open and the sunlight flooded into the hole, along with fresh air. I breathe it in greedily and claw my way out, flopping onto the grassy earth. I close my eyes and push down the threatening hysterics. We finally made it out.

Vorstag flops beside me, panting like a worked dog. I hear him shrug off his bag, its metal contents clinking profitably. I push myself up, looking at him. He is filthy, blond hair matted, full of bruises, cuts, and dirt. The red warrior paint is smudged beyond recognition, and crusted blood stands out on his dented armor. I can imagine I look just as bad.

"Well, that was profitable." I say flatly.

He murmurs in agreement, settling his arms behind his head.

"A pleasure doing business with you." I push myself up, and wince, realizing just how badly damaged I am. He's up on his feet before I know it, checking me over.

"Try healing yourself." He suggests.

"I don't feel up to it right now." I say, taking a shaky breath and massaging my arms. "Too tired. Besides, I feel fine."

"You can drop the bravado act." He says smugly, searching me over for any signs of harm, though I had just insisted I was fine. "We both know there's a different side to you."

"A different side?" I say, both scoff and surprise in my voice. I can feel my eyebrows raise, provoking him to explain himself.

"It kind of showed," he said scrunching his nose during a dramatic pause. "In that cave."

"You mean hell hole?" I say, slightly taken aback by the extreme understatement. "That forsaken Daedric bowel we just crawled out from?" He was acting different. A good different, more like how when we first met. He was relaxing and attempting to vex me. I would take his jeers any day over going back down there.

"And by side you mean weaker and weepy I presume?" I still couldn't believe I had let myself fall apart like that.

He didn't respond right away. "No." He finally says in a quiet voice. "A human side."

"Oh." I shift uncomfortably, but can't stop a faint smile from appearing on my face. "Then I guess I saw that side of you, too."

"What? No!" He laughs awkwardly, breaking the intense eye contact. "Anything, er, noble," he says the word with a shudder, "I did back there was strictly business."

I put my hands on my hips and narrowed my eyes. "Oh come on." I say, voice rising slightly. "You were no longer in it for just the money. We both know that, Vorstag." My face grew hot with embarrassment the moment the words came out.

"Yes I was!" He said, feigning offense. "How do you think I was supposed to get paid if you were dead?" Suddenly, he put his hand out as if he'd just remembered. "Speaking of which, my payment, if you please."

I scoffed, dropping the bag of loot to the ground. "You're such a child." I spit as he lunges and begins rifling through it like a kid searching for presents during the New Life Festival. I was thankful though that his pride had overshadowed my previous, awkward words. I take some deep breaths and, by the time he looks up, the redness has drained from my face.

"I found the spoil I wish to claim." His face is wild and excited, a crazy smile growing wider by the second.

"Well, go on," I say waving for him to pull it out and show-off what he had picked. "Let's see what valuable I'll be relieved of."

Dramatically, he pulls out a black armor cuirass, ebony armor glinting violently in the bright sun. Ebony armor. Good and hard to make, even harder to find, but not something worth that adventure for. I noticed something different about it though. Its blackness was unnatural, the darkest shade I'd ever seen. It was as if I were staring into a smoky void. It also lacked the dramatic creases and winged layers of a normal ebony cuirass, and it shifted easily in his hands like it was lighter and made of…mail.

"Ebony mail?" I say, my breath catching.

"Yes!" He exclaims excitedly, shaking it in the air, letting the dark links jingle obnoxiously.

I realize my mouth is agape, my fingers twitching. I want it. Badly. But a deal is a deal. "That's amazing, Vorstag. One of those hasn't been seen for centuries. I'm sure it'd sell well over 5000 gold." I can't keep the envy from my voice. In all my adventures I'd never possessed more than a thousand gold at one time, and here Vorstag was holding a hunk of metal over five times that.

"Sell it?" He says suddenly, his voice aghast and disturbed. "I'm keeping it! You don't just give something like this away. You show it off. Now excuse me while I put it on."

"Vorstag!" I say, my eyes wide. "You don't have to—!" But he was already pulling off his gear, to my slightly pleased mortification.

xxx

Back in Markarth, we cleaned up, got a good meal at the inn, and cashed in our profits. I purchased some new leather armor, this time enchanted to resist fire, and had a healthy wallet jingling by my thigh, right next to my daedric dagger. It was an empty husk now. A tool simply for the use of cutting throats. It no longer burned or flared with red power. And there were no more voices in my head upon touching it.

It was useless, really. I'd never been one to fight with the dagger. I'd only kept it this long because of my father. But now that he was gone, I pray to Arkay somewhere pleasant, I had no need for it. But when I sold my goods and crafted a new ebony blade, I couldn't bear to part with it. The hunk of metal had become a part of me, a link to my past. And the past was something I could never outrun. I knew that now, though I still didn't fully like it.

Vorstag stands idle, his black armor gleaming in the pale light. The guards that passed us commented on it enthusiastically, noting how it seemed to almost be shrouded in a smoky aurora. I didn't trust them and told Vorstag to be weary.

"Don't worry about me." He says, dismissing my concern with a hand wave. "This'll ward off thieves and attackers more than it'll encourage them."

I smile faintly but it was just a front. My mind is otherwise occupied and my gaze rests just over his shoulder.

"What do you plan on doing next?"

The question jolted me, eyes snapping to his inquisitive face. "Umm…" I stammer, trying to pull my thoughts back together. "Well, for starters, I need to get out of Markarth."

His eyebrows rise. "What for?"

"It's time." I respond flatly. "I've used up whatever I could get out of this place, and I'm ready to head out. Catch a wagon ride over to the Rift." I pause, debating whether to divulge more. What the hell. "I need to get away from the Reach. Everything about this land, the colors, the smell, the people, it all reminds me of my past."

"I thought you were tired of running away from the past?"

"I'm not running away anymore." I say staring hard into his confused face. "I'm moving on. This whole time I think I've been lingering here because I wanted to forget who I was. Like the harder I tried to get away the harder to became for me to leave. Like I was trying to prove to these people I was something I'm not. But now that I've made peace with it I'm finally ready to move on, accepting who I am and finding a life elsewhere."

"I see." He says, thin lipped. He crossed his arms in a tight, tense way, as if he were trying too hard to pose himself while in conversation.

He didn't say anything else, so we stood in silence, uncomfortable for the first time. "What about you?" I manage. "Where do you plan to go?"

"Well, I don't really travel for the sake of traveling." He says with a sarcastic half-smile. "I usually just hold up here, waiting for work to land in my lap."

I laugh at this. "Land in your lap? You practically threw yourself at me!"

He scowls. "I was bored and desperate for work, and you seemed very distressed and susceptible to my charms."

"Oh, really?" I say, my turn to raise eyebrows. "How'd that work out for you?"

"Got more than I bargained for." He growls playfully. He pauses, face twitching like he's trying to say something but can't find the words. It was making me feel increasingly uncomfortable.

"Well, there's no point for me sticking around anymore." I say with finality, eager to get away from this confusion I was beginning to feel. "Good luck as a mercenary?" I stuck out my hand, ready to say our farewells.

"Saber," He says timidly, looking at my hand. "What if—I've been thinking, about this since we got out of there—what if we worked together?"

This catches me off guard. I never wanted to form any attachments. It'd been our original deal to travel on several missions together, but, after the events in the sacrificial crypt, I'd decided I needed to end our partnership sooner than later. He gave me this weird, unsettling feeling I couldn't understand. And I didn't like not understanding things.

"Like continue going on adventures?" I say offhandedly, trying to dissuade the topic.

"More like quests." He says, his voice growing strong. "What if we were to give our adventures meaning? Like we were heroes or something?"

"You don't just choose to be a hero." I say, shaking my head at his childish idea. "You can't just run around saving people your entire life all for the sake of heroics."

"You can if you have a purpose."

"What are you getting at?"

He smiles big and begins his proposal. "We hunt Daedra. We stop them from hurting people and help people caught in their snares."

"Like join the Vigilants of Stendarr?" I ask, slightly confused and scared.

"We could," he says quickly, "but I never like the sound of their methods. I was thinking it could just be us. We made a great team."

"We failed." I say, my voice flat. "We were ensnared just like every other fool who messes with that stuff. We only got out because we cooperated."

"Yeah," he says, like this was part of his point. "We did fail. You gave the daedra a sacrifice. But did it really get what it wanted? We went around its rules, found a loop hole. After all the suffering we went through, the voices in my head, losing your father's soul, we withstood its desire. We can stop them, find loop holes everywhere, save people from making mistakes, destroy their cultists."

"That's suicide, Vorstag." He's ranting like a madman.

"No its not." He says, fully convicted in this idea. "We could do it. We have motive. You talk about always running away from your past, now making peace with it and moving on. What if you were to use it as fuel? What you've been through, your complete hatred for the Daedra, that's motivation to do the most powerful things."

I didn't say anything. Instead I stared at him through squinted eyes and a curious tilt to my head. It was insane. There was no doubting that. But at the same time it fulfilled every desire I had ever had. Every angry thought, every liberating idea, every bit of coming to love myself. I could help people, I could fight the Daedra rather than accepting their power over us. Maybe even save others from making the same mistakes as me. My past wasn't something to be ashamed of. It was fuel. Maybe it was even my destiny. And I wouldn't have to do it alone.

"Okay, Vorstag." I say, a crazy smile spreading across my face.

"Really?" He asks, a wicked gleam in his eye. "You're up for it? Your magic and my sword spreading justice and staking human claim to this world?"

I nod my head. "Let's hunt some Daedra."


End file.
